Intro to Revolution
by Lulz Leilani
Summary: Alfred had always been grateful for all his older brother had done for him. But that couldn't stop him from wanting freedom. Oneshot of the beginning of the Rev. War, no pairings involved. Reviews are love! I can't write summaries to save my life...


Alfred Jones had been staring out of his window for the longest of times. He looked out over his huge backyard, filled with trees and shrubs of all varieties. The enormous expanse he had yet to discover. Not that this vastness daunted him in any way. He liked a challenge. But it still bothered him because...

Because it wasn't really his to own. It wasn't "_Alfred Jones's House_". It was more like "_Arthur Kirkland's Other House That Alfred Just Stays In Because He Really Has Nowhere Else To Go_". Not only was that a mouthful, but it was embarrassing and just didn't feel right. He wasn't completely his own country like Francis (or, That Stupid Git-Face France, as Arthur liked to call him) or Ivan (who Arthur also had a special name for, but Alfred didn't like repeating it for fear that Ivan would somehow hear it). He'd wanted to bring the subject up every time Arthur had stopped by lately, but he could never bring himself to say it. He thought it could possibly make him look childish or stupid. But what could Alfred _do_ about it, anyway? What could he do to change the fact that he didn't feel as independent and strong as the others?

He could ask for more freedom from Arthur, but his caregiver had ... well, taken care of him for his whole life. It seemed selfish to ask for more when so much had been done for him already. And just up and leaving was out of the question, too. But then there was the fact that Alfred was so dependent on his older brother. He certainly didn't like that, either. Francis didn't depend on other people, and certainly not Ivan.

It was one of the most difficult cases of being between a rock and a hard place he'd ever had to deal with. It was the _only_ case of being between a rock and a hard place he'd ever had to deal with. Normally Arthur would take care of any problems Alfred might have come across.  
Arthur seemed to be a big part of his life, now that he thought about it. Even nowadays, when he was growing bigger by the second and getting older and more experienced. "_What, did you grow_ another _seven inches_?" Those were always the first words out of his older brother's mouth every time he came over, without fail. And the unknown regions of his backyard were becoming a little smaller with each passing day. He was learning more. He was becoming his own.  
But then there was Arthur, who discouraged him from exploring, on the grounds that he might hurt himself. As Alfred looked down at his clothes and the cup of tea he had been sipping at, he realized that his older brother was even affecting the way he dressed and ate.

With a sigh, he set the cup down onto its little saucer and walked outside into his garden to try and clear his head. The cool breeze and welcoming scent of flowers worked almost immediately, melting his stress into thin air. He silently wished to himself that everyone in the world had a place to go to like this. Then maybe there wouldn't be so much bickering.

A soft ray of sunlight peeked out of the clouds and the brilliant blue sky, warming his face. After a few minutes, the effect was almost lulling. And, sure enough, another few minutes later Alfred had drifted into a light doze, forgetting all about Arthur and his control.  
An hour or two passed in this fashion without much occurring, except for maybe the bee that whizzed by his ear for a moment thinking it was a flower before flying off after finding it wasn't. Noon had faded into one-thirty by the time the quietness was interrupted. The gate that lead into the garden softly creaked open and then shut. Upon finding that Alfred wasn't answering his front door, Arthur Kirkland had gone around and let himself into the garden. It was the only other place his younger brother could be, really.

"Alfred?" he called out, walking carefully over tulips and petunias.

Alfred snorted awake at the sound of his name.

"Hmm? Whazzat?" he sputtered, confused for a moment. Then he yawned, stretched out his arms and yelled back, "Over, here, Arthur."

"There you are. Jeez, did you grow again? I think you're taller than me now." the other replied with a bemused look on his face. He always seemed to crack a smile around Alfred.

"That's really not that hard, Arthur..."

"_What's that supposed to mean_?!"

"Nothing, nothing. So, what brings you here?" Alfred changed the subject quickly with a quick and almost nervous laugh. He scooched over some to allow his older brother to sit next to him.

"Do I need a reason to visit? Why wouldn't I come over?" Arthur seemed to have forgiven him for bringing up his height. But then, Arthur had always been fond of Alfred. It was no surprise, really.

"No, just curious." came the reply.

The topic was changed again as the two broke into the conversations they often had. More time passed as one-thirty passed on into two- forty-five. Throughout the whole talk, it slowly became apparent to Arthur that Alfred was acting peculiar this particular afternoon. Well, more peculiar than normal. He couldn't put his finger on it, but his behavior had definitely changed somehow.

"Is something the matter? You seem a bit off. Hope you're not getting ill..." he muttered, putting a hand to his brother's forehead.

"No, I'm fine," Alfred said quickly, shying away, "It's just..."  
Here was the opportunity he had been wanting. To tell Arthur about how he felt. To tell him his house didn't feel like his house, that he wanted more freedom.

But he couldn't bring himself to say it.

"Nothing. It's nothing." he finished, giving a halfhearted smile.

Arthur looked at him for a bit, as if doubting Alfred was telling the truth. He probably did suspect as much, but if he did he didn't show it. Their conversation continued on as if nothing had happened.

Days passed after this, but Alfred couldn't shake the nagging feeling of his epiphany. If someone had been at his house with him, all they would most likely see him do was stare out of the window and look at his backyard that wasn't his.

One day, as he was absentmindedly flipping through a thick (and rather boring) book on flight, a loud rapping noise reached his ears. Finding that the pounding was coming from his front door, Alfred quickly snapped his book shut and hurried to open it.  
He was rather shocked to find Arthur standing on his doorstep. Not that he was ever surprised when his older brother came around, but he seemed just a bit more ragged than before. He looked more sickly, too. His eyes, usually a bright shade of green, were duller. Not to mention the tiny, shallow cut just below his cheek. And, speaking of his cheeks, he was ... was he blushing? Alfred blinked a few times just to make sure his eyesight wasn't leaving him. But no, the great and proud England was pink in the cheeks. He didn't seem to be able to look Alfred straight in the eye, either.

"Um..." he began, clearing his throat a few times, "Given the state of, uh, I-"

"Arthur, what happened to you? You don't look so well." the younger brother interrupted, a worried look on his face.

"Well... There's..." he didn't seem to be able to form even the beginning of a sentence. Finally, he just sighed, hung his head and mumbled something.

"Beg pardon? I didn't catch that."

"I said I needed money..." Arthur began with a pained look on his face, that spoke volumes of how embarrassed he was to be doing this "I hope you realize I'm only asking this because I need ... help, and I promise you, if you make me repeat it one more time, I'll strangle the bloody life out of you."  
With this, he gave a sort of huff and appeared to suddenly be more interested in something off to the side.

Alfred bit his lip. If it was _Arthur_ was asking for help, something was wrong. And he _did_ have the funds...

"All right. Of course I'll ... _assist_ you."

But in the weeks that followed, it became clear that his brother needed a _lot_ of money. But he simply had to grin and bear it. Arthur had done so much for him, this was the least he could do.  
For the time he had stayed at his (or rather, his brother's that he just stayed in) house, Alfred had been getting things like paper and tea solely from Arthur, and paying for them too. But now an extra amount of money was put on top of that price, to further help with the financial trouble. Months passed and Alfred's economy began to falter. He had to eat less and take other shortcomings as they came. But he kept to his word, with only the reminder of how much he had been taken care of to keep him from doing something drastic.

He spent more time than ever just looking out of the window or sitting outside in his (Arthur's) garden thinking. Thinking of the freedom he wanted so much right then.  
But he bore on through, paying the extra because ...  
He didn't know why anymore.

So when the idea of leaving Arthur and taking the house as his own rolled around again, he was more open to entertaining the idea.  
When the going gets tough, the tough get going. The same held true with Alfred.

And so, one day, he decided he'd had enough. Paying Arthur loads of extra money was killing him and his economy. But the money wasn't the entire issue. It was the fact that his brother technically owned all of what he lived in. Alfred was just allowed to live in the house because Arthur thought of him fondly as a brother. He didn't own anything, really. He'd had enough.  
A few days later, Arthur came by again, bringing a crate of tea with him. Alfred steeled himself for what he had to do.  
The two talked like they used to, but at the same time it wasn't at all like the old days. In the old days, they didn't have things like financial issues and dreams of freedom to tamper with their relationship.

Out of nowhere, Alfred stood up from the chair he had been sitting in to talk with his brother. He took a deep breath and cleared his throat, preparing for what should have come ages ago.  
"England...," he started, looking him dead in the eye, "Get out."

Arthur was taken aback by just the use of his other title. Alfred never, not once, referred to him like that.

"I-I'm sorry?" he stuttered. Perhaps he had misheard? He had to have, there was no way...

"You heard me. Get out. I want you out of _my_ house." America repeated.

The older sibling was at a loss for words. _His_ house?

"I knew it. You're getting sick, you - you're just ill..." he mumbled, getting up and reaching out to feel Alfred's forehead, willing it to be true. But his hand was slapped away as if it were unholy.

"Please, just... Just get out. Now." Alfred added with all assertiveness, feeling his courage return, "You can't rule over me anymore. I want my liberty."

England took a step back, shaking his head with disbelief. This couldn't be happening.

"Dammit, no... What happened to you, Alfred? You... you can't..." he struggled to find some argument. He could just demand his brother stop this ... this _foolishness_, but something about the look he was getting killed the words before they got a chance to be said. They seemed to join together until a lump formed in his throat. Suddenly, he felt like absolute crap. Like he'd been punched in the stomach several times.

"_Dammit!_" What gave him the right to do this? Weren't they supposed to take care of each other?  
Still shaking his head he turned and ran into the drizzle of rain that was pouring down outside, his heart feeling as if it were made of lead.

With this, tears began streaming down America's face because of what he'd just done. He looked down at the forgotten crate of tea, gently picked it up, and proceeded to throw it into the large pond he had out in his - _his_ - backyard.

A few days later, Alfred came out of the house - his house - with a cloth bundle in his arms. He walked out to the flagpole that stood in the front lawn and slowly began to pull the rope that brought the fluttering Union Jack down. As he was solemnly removing it from the rope, Francis Bonnefoy came up behind him, also carrying a cloth bundle. The Frenchman watched as Alfred carefully folded the British flag and replaced it on the rope with a new flag. This one was a bit shabbier than the one it was replacing as it had been handmade, but there was an aura of pride around it. Soon, stripes of red and white and a square of blue with a ring of stars flew high, whipping to and fro in the breeze.  
Francis gave a sad smile, which was certainly uncharacteristic of him, and handed his bundle to Alfred. It was a uniform, in the same blues, whites, and reds that the new flag had.

"You're really going to do this?" he asked in his thick French accent.

America nodded, looking down at the uniform.

"Yeah. I have to."


End file.
